fiery hair is pinned up on one side, and falls
over her bare shoulder in a cascade of big curls. She pauses for just a moment
when she sees him, waiting there to open her door.
Not his driver, but the
king of New York himself.
Her eyes flit over him,
no doubt catching his grin and his easy sexiness. He knows what he does to
her.
He opens the car door
when she approaches, and she leans in to feather a kiss on his cheek before she
climbs in. He smells her perfume, Cashmere, always, and his gut stirs at the
memories that follow her. When he gets in the other door and the car rolls away
from the curb, she says, “You really were serious.”
Her surprise is genuine,
and she's not shy about watching him. She’s never been scared of him or felt
outclassed by him, a fact that has kept her in a very unique position in his
life. She has never been one to veil her interest in him, interest that lies
mostly in the firecracker way they fuck. His amusement remains firm in his
grin, and he says, “I see you got dressed in case.”
A sarcastic smile takes
her as well. She says, “Oh, you know, I figured if you didn't show, I could
just con my way in anyway. What security guard doesn't love a good blow job?”
“For one of yours, the
commissioner himself would let you in.”
She pauses again,
glances at him. She's not used to his light-hearted teasing, or such honesty.
He fields her attention, reaches over and pinches her upper arm.
“What the hell?” she
blurts, pulling away from the tiny pain as though it's significant.
“You looked like you
don't believe this is real. This is not a dream,” he says, his smile all too
knowing against her continued surprise.
He flips open the
minibar, and retrieves a couple splits of champagne. As he makes work of
opening them and filling two glasses, she can only stare.When she finally finds her voice, just as he hands her a flute,
she says, “Seriously, why me? At a public event? Have you lost your mind?”
This is the first time
they've seen each other since Seth's return to the states, and though she knew
he would eventually come to her, she never dreamed it would be like this. She
knows the darker days he's lived through lately, knows without having ever
asked that he was there when his girlfriend died. She knows that all the
stories surrounding the untimely demise of Michael Morgan and Nicolette Oliver
are bullshit. She knows because after years of digging up dirt on the Morgans
from the outside, she has finally been ushered into that deadly world by the
one who tried to protect her from it.
He holds the eye contact
and says, “Maybe I thought it was about time I finally took you on a proper
date.”
Her eyes fly wide. She
knows that this is a completely different world than it was just a few months
ago. Now, the whole empire is Seth's—well, his and his uptight cousin’s. In
this world, Seth can take whomever he likes to whatever event he likes, and
there's not a damn word anyone can say about it.
He adds, “Or maybe it's
about time you know what it feels like to be on the cover of your beloved
gossip rags.”
Her gaze narrows.
There's that prick. She can handle him better. So she says, “Then I guess it's
too early to fuck like animals in the backseat of this Bentley, huh?”
His smile fades the
tiniest bit, and he answers, “Yeah, maybe a bit early.” But his words don't
have the vive they had moments earlier. He takes a slow drink, and adds, “You
look great.”
A blush threatens her
cheeks, so she looks away, at the city creeping by, and says, “So do you. But
you know that.”
For the rest of the
ride, they're silent, and Vera is content to wrap an arm through his and leave
her hand resting on his forearm. If the intimacy is too much for him, he
doesn't show it, and he doesn't stop her.
As always, there's a
throng of reporters and photographers surrounding the red carpet that leads
into the gala. The driver lets Seth out first, and that's enough
over her bare shoulder in a cascade of big curls. She pauses for just a moment
when she sees him, waiting there to open her door.
Not his driver, but the
king of New York himself.
Her eyes flit over him,
no doubt catching his grin and his easy sexiness. He knows what he does to
her.
He opens the car door
when she approaches, and she leans in to feather a kiss on his cheek before she
climbs in. He smells her perfume, Cashmere, always, and his gut stirs at the
memories that follow her. When he gets in the other door and the car rolls away
from the curb, she says, “You really were serious.”
Her surprise is genuine,
and she's not shy about watching him. She’s never been scared of him or felt
outclassed by him, a fact that has kept her in a very unique position in his
life. She has never been one to veil her interest in him, interest that lies
mostly in the firecracker way they fuck. His amusement remains firm in his
grin, and he says, “I see you got dressed in case.”
A sarcastic smile takes
her as well. She says, “Oh, you know, I figured if you didn't show, I could
just con my way in anyway. What security guard doesn't love a good blow job?”
“For one of yours, the
commissioner himself would let you in.”
She pauses again,
glances at him. She's not used to his light-hearted teasing, or such honesty.
He fields her attention, reaches over and pinches her upper arm.
“What the hell?” she
blurts, pulling away from the tiny pain as though it's significant.
“You looked like you
don't believe this is real. This is not a dream,” he says, his smile all too
knowing against her continued surprise.
He flips open the
minibar, and retrieves a couple splits of champagne. As he makes work of
opening them and filling two glasses, she can only stare.When she finally finds her voice, just as he hands her a flute,
she says, “Seriously, why me? At a public event? Have you lost your mind?”
This is the first time
they've seen each other since Seth's return to the states, and though she knew
he would eventually come to her, she never dreamed it would be like this. She
knows the darker days he's lived through lately, knows without having ever
asked that he was there when his girlfriend died. She knows that all the
stories surrounding the untimely demise of Michael Morgan and Nicolette Oliver
are bullshit. She knows because after years of digging up dirt on the Morgans
from the outside, she has finally been ushered into that deadly world by the
one who tried to protect her from it.
He holds the eye contact
and says, “Maybe I thought it was about time I finally took you on a proper
date.”
Her eyes fly wide. She
knows that this is a completely different world than it was just a few months
ago. Now, the whole empire is Seth's—well, his and his uptight cousin’s. In
this world, Seth can take whomever he likes to whatever event he likes, and
there's not a damn word anyone can say about it.
He adds, “Or maybe it's
about time you know what it feels like to be on the cover of your beloved
gossip rags.”
Her gaze narrows.
There's that prick. She can handle him better. So she says, “Then I guess it's
too early to fuck like animals in the backseat of this Bentley, huh?”
His smile fades the
tiniest bit, and he answers, “Yeah, maybe a bit early.” But his words don't
have the vive they had moments earlier. He takes a slow drink, and adds, “You
look great.”
A blush threatens her
cheeks, so she looks away, at the city creeping by, and says, “So do you. But
you know that.”
For the rest of the
ride, they're silent, and Vera is content to wrap an arm through his and leave
her hand resting on his forearm. If the intimacy is too much for him, he
doesn't show it, and he doesn't stop her.
As always, there's a
throng of reporters and photographers surrounding the red carpet that leads
into the gala. The driver lets Seth out first, and that's enough
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